The Wistful Show
Chapter One Lurdes Teixeira hauled the wet clay across the threshold, her boots slipping on the slick stone as the dry season wind tore at the hem of her tunic. She was forty years old, her hands mapped with the white scars of iron burns, and she carried the amulet of river clay in her pocket, its surface gritty against her thigh. The valley of the Alentejo lay flat and parched outside the...
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